


every claim you stake

by Amber



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Treat, Voyeur Elias Bouchard, Voyeurism, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: For the request: "Martin is an extra bonus Elias promised Peter. After all, someone has to take Elias’s place in Peter’s life while he’s in prison."





	every claim you stake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



> Standard disclaimer: Please don't link this to the creators. Please don't repost my fic on other websites. Transformative works or quotes with a link are fine and you don't need to tell me or ask permission (but I would love to know!)

Prison, even only in remand, has very little to recommend it. However Elias Bouchard, unlike the rest of the prisoners, has plenty to entertain himself with. So he eats, and he showers, and he takes his mandatory exercise, and he spends the rest of his time lying on the lower bunk of his four-man room, with his physical eyes closed — and all the other eyes that belong to him _open_.

(Very early in his stay, somebody decides to test him, even though as he's waiting for trial nobody is yet fishing for him to join their gang, mostly lets him be. But some idiot isn't put off by his aura of mild-mannered menace, and makes the mistake of trying to start a fight in the showers. Elias reaches down into the dark of his demons and pulls out some childhood abuse or another, and after that he is not bothered again.)

It would be somewhat apt to compare what he does to flicking through television channels. Some pictures are grainy, difficult to pull into focus — others have only visual and no sound — a couple only work at certain times. The Institute is particularly certain, his office most of all, but Jon's hospital room comes in quite clearly — and, if he cares to step into them, so too do his dreams.

So he is watching and listening when Martin steps into the Head Office, where Peter lounges casually at Elias' desk.

"You er, wanted to see me?" he asks, shutting the door and taking a seat without being asked, rubbing his palms on his trousers — perhaps they're clammy.

"Yes, Martin," says Peter, all smiles. "Great to have you back. I trust you feel a little better after some time off?"

"Yeah," says Martin, though it's not particularly convincing. "Everyone really appreciated that, Mr. Lukas—"

" _Captain_ Lukas," Peter interrupts sharply, and Elias gives a mental snort, because he always was a bit fussy about that. But the genial mask springs up again instantly. "But really, call me Peter. We're not on my ship. And I'd like us to be friends. Might make this easier for you."

"Um. Make... what, easier?" Martin asks, the lines of his body suddenly tight with apprehension.

Elias' leather desk chair creaks as Peter leans his muscular bulk forward, an elbow on the desk. Elias feels the same anticipation himself — and dread, too, because he knows what's coming, and that he will like it and hate it in equal measure.

"Thing is," says Peter, "While my family has a lot to do with this place, for our own reasons, it wouldn't do more than mildly inconvenience us to see it go under. And sure, we're in an alliance, whatever that means for the actual forces in play, but there's plenty of dead-eyed Lukases who could do this job. Just none who could do it as well as me. You don't run a cargo ship for as long as I have without picking up a few managerial skills."

"Right," says Martin, obviously a bit lost, not sure where this is going. He tries flattery — Elias isn't sure if it's a gambit or if Peter's looks and charisma and false-friendly affect are starting to outweigh the gut instincts that tell humans to flee the Lonely's presence. "You've seemed pretty good at it so far. Um. Not that I've been here for a couple of weeks, but, you know, water-cooler gossip."

"Yes," says Peter, simply accepting the praise as his due like the solipsistic narcissist he is. "Glad you think so. The point is, when Elias let me have a look around the place, meet all the staff, I took quite a liking to you. So I said, Elias, if I'm going to do you this favour — and it is, Martin, a favour that I am doing you all — if I'm going to do you this favour, and you're not going to be here to see that I'm satisfied, I think you should give me Martin Blackwood instead."

Elias' lips quirk, fondly annoyed. It had gone like that almost verbatim. He hadn't been surprised — Martin was Peter's type on several fronts, and the man was a consummate hedonist, considered his carnal satisfaction as much a part of Elias' responsibilities when hosting him as other businessmen would expect well-made coffee.

Not that Elias had ever particularly minded that aspect of his job.

"You want me to join up with the Lukases?" Martin is asking, confused. Elias can almost feel him considering what he's read of them; Martin is an assistant, with all the connections to the Eye that implies, and it means Elias is very aware of him rifling through his memories of statements. But Peter doesn't have any such awareness, and he just laughs.

"No, no. I mean, if you'd like to defect, I can help you with that, but you're a pretty good fit for Beholding. And we're already a touch short-staffed around here." The shadow of grief wings briefly across Martin's expression and is gone. Peter watches keenly, delight in his empty eyes. "No, what I'd like you to do, Martin, is take your clothes off."

There is an abiding schadenfreude in watching the realization wash over Martin's face along with the blush — it _is_ mostly his fault Elias is malingering in prison, after all. 

"You- you can't just. We're at work," Martin is protesting, "That's, um, it's sexual harassment? I—"

"No," says Peter with a laugh. "I think you'll find that your job description has been somewhat modified, so it's all aboveboard."

It isn't, really, but what about the Institute is? Martin seems to be aware of that, just as he's aware of the amount of effort it took to get the police anywhere near the place. Remembering Elias' threats. Remembering that the only other person back at work is Basira, and they've never been close. (Remembering how he'd been quite attracted to Peter Lukas for the brief few moments before he'd realized how dangerous he was.)

"All right, Martin?" Peter asks, friendly. Letting him ease into it. Someone who didn't know him well might call it gentleness; Elias thinks of it as watching him play with his food.

"Are - are you sure you, um," Martin is even more stammers than usual, and Elias can see the fine beads of sweat forming on his skin. "You sure you want, me?"

"Very sure," says Peter, unabashed. He leans back in his seat again, at ease. "Let me lay your options out for you, Martin. You can refuse me, of course, I'm not taking away your free will. Contracts can be tricky, so you may feel a little ill, but there's no helping that. Then, I'll consider my options for a replacement for your duties — but I'm afraid I'm not really interested in women, so unless the Archivist wakes up ... well, I may not have any reason to stick around." He shrugs. "Which doesn't mean much to you, but trust me — when Elias bribed me to run this place it's because he knew anyone else would be careless with the staff of the Institute. Might not even be able to keep it all running, given all the plates that need spinning. And if a department lost funding... well, that's a lot of perfectly nice people having to go without a paycheck. So I'm your kindest option."

"Right." Martin has listened to all of this quietly, his face gone pale, set in a quietly serious expression. He looks tired, resigned. Elias put guilt aside a long time ago, but he does feel a flicker of protectiveness. Martin isn't quite his Archivist as far as his importance goes, but he's proven himself the toughest and most interesting assistant, and Elias would rather not leave him wastefully broken. But once again, Martin surprises him. "All right. There are worse things you could ask of me."

"That's right," Peter agrees. "And don't worry. I won't ask anything of you that I wouldn't ask of Elias." He smiles, and Elias knows Peter must be more aware of being watched than he first thought. Something about being the Lonely's avatar means he's always aware of every presence in a room, even the ones that aren't physically there. 

Elias should stop watching. His voyeurism could make things worse for Martin, inspire Peter to show off, to taunt Elias with the power he has over what isn't rightfully his. But it isn't within his capacity to avert his eyes, whatever the consequences. No interference, and no looking away. Only watching, ceaselessly, with sadomasochistic enjoyment.

He watches as Martin stands and starts to undress, his hands fumbling the buttons on his cheap work shirt. He watches him undo his belt, the blush spreading as low as his shoulders. Peter watches too, relaxed and indulgent.

"Fold your clothes," he says. "Have some discipline." Martin does, leaves a neat pile on his chair. Everything but his boxers, which makes Peter tut. "Those too."

Martin swallows. "What if," he says hesitantly, "Someone comes in? Rosie shouldn't have to see that."

Peter chuckles. "Nobody else is going to see you unless I want them to, Martin. I could make it so there was nobody in the world but the two of us." Another sly nod to the fact that he knows Elias is watching. "Besides, she won't see anything if you're under the desk."

Martin takes his boxers off. It becomes immediately obvious his reluctance hadn't been simple modesty: his cock is lifted with interest, as flushed as his face and halfway to full. Peter laughs, delighted. "Worse things indeed. Come here."

Elias can See that Martin is inexperienced, nervously hoping this might be nice, getting off with someone and not really having to be anxious what they think of him. Can practically hear Martin reminding himself that this is for the Institute, and for Jon. He steps around the desk and lets Peter manhandle him into his lap, and then is bold enough to lift a hand to Peter's rough cheek and ask, "Can I kiss you?"

Elias nearly laughs. Peter doesn't, though, looking surprised — he probably doesn't deal with earnest, sweet solicitation in his sex life very much. But that shock slides into the amusement that always seems to be lingering at the edge of Peter's lips, and he drags Martin in, bites a kiss right out of his mouth. There's nothing sweet about it, and his hands wander Martin's body, grabbing at his soft places with rapacious hunger. Swallowing the noises his rough groping evokes.

But he gets bored of that quick enough. "Knees," he says, and Martin goes, folding himself beneath the desk. Elias can still see, but he doesn't really have to, he knows the feeling exactly: the carpet of his office surprisingly rough on bare knees; the surrounding desk a little claustrophobic. The sight of Peter untucking himself, getting his cock out. It's thick, uncut, and his skin always tastes like salt. "Don't be shy now," he rumbles encouragingly, lifting it in one hand and offering it to Martin's mouth.

This isn't Martin's first blowjob, which is probably for the best — Peter isn't interested in letting him experiment, allows only a few hesitant licks and kisses of exploration before he gets his hand in Martin's hair and says, "Open your mouth," and fucks it. Martin stretches his jaw and sucks as best he can, but Peter treats him like a sex toy, sliding his head back and forth selfishly as he gets hard in Martin's mouth. Bumping the head of his cock against the back of Martin's throat until he gags and splutters.

"That's it," Peter sighs, starting to work the bottom half of his dick now that it's too big for Martin's mouth, spilled saliva slicking the way. "Pretty good, Martin. You like the taste of my cock? You're going to be getting a lot of it. Few things in life better than getting a blowjob in the middle of a long day, let me tell you."

Martin makes a noise suddenly, needy, and Elias looks to see that Peter has angled one of his boots to press between Martin's legs. He always wears these thick-soled shiny shoes that are better suited to his ship than an office job, and he's not being gentle with them as he toes Martin's balls because the sounds spluttered around his cock are as much pain as pleasure.

"I should warn you," Peter says calmly, still forcing Martin's head back and forth, "If you get so much as a drop of come on my shoes you'll have to lick them clean."

Martin makes a noise of assent, and Elias is fascinated to see he's turned on by the idea, is storing it away as a depraved little fantasy for later. Always surprising Elias, is Martin Blackwood.

Unfortunately he's lying in a prison cell, so he doesn't lower himself to masturbate, even as he finds this little scene is getting him painfully hard, the twinned sensation of remembering Peter using his mouth and getting to see him doing the same to Martin. Being able to watch unfettered the way veins pop along his corpse-pale Lukas skin in arousal, the ruddiness of his neck, the tension in his muscular thighs. His mouth drops open slightly to pant, and he fucks his hips up mercilessly when he reaches the edge, coming down Martin's throat.

Martin is a mess when he pulls back, all snot and tears and saliva, the come he didn't manage to swallow sheeny on his lips. He isn't crying, though, doesn't cry. Touches his swollen lips and then tries to clean himself up as best he can, his own wet fingers in his mouth, as Peter recovers above him.

Once the rush of orgasm has passed Peter looks down, considering. Elias knows what Martin doesn't; that Peter is capable, even at his age, at wanting that more than once a day, might make him kneel down there for hours, might make him suck the thick head of Peter's cock until it's hard enough to go all over again. But apparently Martin's willing obedience has earned him more clemency than Elias' icy fury ever got, because Peter pulls his hair and shifts his chair backwards until Martin gets the picture and climbs out from under the desk.

"Get dressed and back to work with you, then," Peter tells him, ignoring the fact that Martin is so hard his cock is basically vertical. Despite that, Martin seems grateful — to not have further horrors or humiliations inflicted on him.

"Yes, Captain," he says, and this time Peter doesn't correct him to first name, just smiles like a lazy cat. Underestimating Martin, as everyone does.

"I'll expect you undressed and below my desk this time tomorrow," he says, as Martin struggles back into his clothes, and Martin does his best to conceal the way his shoulders slump in disappointment that this wasn't a one time payment — but Elias sees.

"Yes, Captain," he says again, tying off his shoes, his eyes lowered.

Only Elias sees the spark of fury he's started to nurse, deep in his gut — the same kind that burnt through six statements despite the cost to all involved, the agony it must have taken. Martin goes to the staff bathroom, washes his face without crying. Looks at himself in the mirror for a long moment, meeting his own eyes. And Elias watches him jerk off in one of the stalls, fascinated by the contrast of vulnerability that flickers across Martin's upturned face when he comes. 

He watches, and he wonders with no little awe what Martin Blackwood is going to do to unseat _Peter_ from this throne.


End file.
